


Hands on the Table

by Aris_Silverfin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Bets, Established Relationship, M/M, Overeating, belly stuffing, dares, moany groany Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt: A dare for a stuffing session. Nobody touches the belly. How long can they resist?</p><p>Sherlock and John decide to spice up their usual stuffing sessions with an added challenge. The first to touch their own or the other's belly loses. Sherlock thinks he has this in the bag, but John has a surprise move in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands on the Table

Sherlock lazily slid another forkful of mashed potato into his mouth, his lips closing to slip over the utensil, leaving it shining and clean as his lips puckered and shifted as he worked the hot smooth mass with his tongue before swallowing it down. He hummed softly, his other hand moving down to test his stomach, trailing his fingers along the subtle curve that was rising below his rib cage. He was shirtless, and the light touches sent chills through him. He checked the time on his mobile. Excellent right on schedule.

He leaned forward again, feeling his stomach rounding against the elastic of his pajama bottoms, and scooped himself up a liberal portion of mashed potato once again, then doused it in a greasy bacon sauce. He paired it with some perfectly buttered greens and selected another pork chop. He was already feeling full, but there was plenty of food left. And John would be home soon. The detective grinned and picked up his utensils again to resume eating.

Sure enough, just as Sherlock was polishing of his most recent plate, there was the sound of the door from downstairs, then a familiar tread upon the stairs.

"Sherlock! I'm home! Blimey, it smells good, did you make din-"

Sherlock allowed himself a catlike smirk as he drew his arms behind his head, stretching and arching so that his full, rounded stomach was in the doctor's view.

"I did in fact. I hope you don't mind that I started without you. I've been feeling rather insatiable of late," the detective rumbled, letting his hands slip down to rub lightly at his belly instead now.

"Have you?" said John, his own tone deepening as he took in the spread on the table. He tossed his jacket aside and slid into his chair beside Sherlock. He prodded Sherlock's middle lightly and the detective huffed softly in response, shifting languidly. "Nice welcome home though, thanks love." John grinned and kissed Sherlock's cheek, his hand roaming over to rub along with Sherlock's hands. The detective positively purred.

John chuckled. "You know, sometimes I can't tell which of us enjoys rubbing your tum more," he said, fingers with their slight warm roughness positively electrifying every nerve where they touched Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock snorted in response, eyes closed contentedly, his own fingers tracing and probing his belly. " _You_ , John. You've only just entered the room. It took you less than a minute to begin touching me."

"You think you're that irresistible, hm?" countered John, teasing and challenge entering his voice in equal measure. Sherlock felt a sudden rush of excitement, his eyes opening once more to look down at his lover.

"As a matter of fact," the detective said silkily, "I do. And I think my self control is markedly _better_ than a certain ex-army doctor."

"Oh do you? Even if I was, as you say, in the army. That takes discipline," said John, his hand slipping from Sherlock's middle as he crossed his arms, posture straightening, a dangerous sort of glint in his usually kind eyes.

Sherlock watched him hungrily, then smirked and pushed further. "Certainly. But orders, discipline, from someone else. Not-"

"I was a bloody _captain_ , Sherlock," said John, his voice not raised, just a tad more clipped, that fascinating humor underneath. Sherlock practically felt his own nostrils flare with his next deeper breath, but he kept his features schooled, still in that cool, calculating, smirk.

"Hardly different," said Sherlock, sitting back again, his hand still idly circling his middle. He was feeling quite hungry again all of a sudden.

"Isn't it?" said John, arms still crossed, "Well, we'll just have to see about that then. Do an experiment yeah? I don't see you resisting touching that rotound little tum of yours."

Sherlock quickly removed his hand, steepling it with the other and placing his elbows on the table instead. Perfect, intriguing, a game perhaps. Sherlock looked over at John.

"What sort of experiment might that be then?" he asked.

John pursed his lips, then nudged his chair closer to the table, clearly considering his options. He looked back up at Sherlock then explained, "A stuffing, as usual. But this time, the first one of us who touches your belly loses."

Sherlock hummed, a gleeful smile on his lips, as he replied, "Hm, yes. I think that ought to work. Though let's make things a bit more challenging, shall we? No contact between the two of us at all of any kind that does not involve utensils. Any contact with a stomach results in immediate loss of the bet."

"Bet?" prompted John, smiling as well as he loaded up his own plate of the calorific food Sherlock had prepared. "What do I get when I win?"

Sherlock drew himself up haughtily and said, quite casually, "Winner gets to come. Loser has to clean the dishes first."

The detective glanced over, feeling self-satisfied as John visibly swallowed. Oh, this would be so very interesting. Just what he needed after a dull couple of days home on his own.

"S-sounds good. Yeah," agreed John, looking up at Sherlock over his plate. "Well, may the most disciplined man win." He raised his fork to his lover, and Sherlock returned the salute in kind. Then they both began to eat.

For a while, there was no sound in the kitchen but for the scrape and clink of cutlery against plates, a shift of a chair leg against the floor as one of them shifted to get more food. Sherlock was feeling really quite overfull now, his stomach tight and starting to twinge now and again when he swallowed. He slowed his pace, wanting to observe John, perhaps goad him into slipping up. Sherlock really wanted a warm hand on his middle right now.

But John was just resolutely staying focused on his plate, eating his one plateful to Sherlock's three, sipping from his water glass now and again. Well, Sherlock couldn't have that. He wasn't stuffing himself silly to be ignored.

The detective groaned and leaned back, slouching and blowing out his tummy. "Oooh... hmmph. Think I'm getting full, John," he murmured.

John's eyes flicked over to him momentarily before going back to his plate. "Good," said the doctor, "I'm nearly finished here. Then I assume there's dessert yeah?"

"Yes," said Sherlock, sulking slightly before adding with renewed inspiration, "But God, John... I don't think I could eat another bite! My belly's so round... so- urp... so full..." He moaned expertly, shifting in his chair. His own hands clenched the armrests to remind himself not to give in. It was surprisingly hard, he wanted, no needed, someone's hand on his belly, longed to trace the shape of it, map it with his fingertips. He grunted pitifully.

"That's not going to work, Sherlock," said John shortly, though there was a flush creeping up his ears. Sherlock smirked, then sighed dramatically, his stomach expanding once again. This time, John's eyes clearly lingered. Ah, good. He'd finished eating.

"Aren't you going to finish?" John added, nodding curtly at Sherlock's remaining food.

Sherlock chewed his lip, then let his mouth open. "Feed me?" he asked, playing to John's caretaking nature as best he could, "I'm so full. Look at my belly, John... I'm too full."

"Sherlock, shut up," snapped the doctor, even as he moved his chair closer and took up more mashed potato on his fork.

"We never said I wasn't permitted to speak," said Sherlock, lightly, taking the bite of potato as John fed it to him and then giving a low indulgent hum as he swallowed.

"Fine, carry on moaning and huffing like a fat fucking hippopotamus, see what that get's you, Podgy."

Sherlock smirked and accepted the next bite of food silently. He groaned around the next mouthful and chuckled as John shot him a murderous glare, his free hand clenched into a fist on the table.

"Honestly John," drawled the detective, "I can't help it. My belly's so full, stuffed, actually. It- hmmmnng..." He stretched back again, undulating against the seat. "Feels so heavy..."

"Dessert," said John, standing and going to the fridge.

"Mmm, yes please," murmured Sherlock. Once John's back was turned he clenched the arms of his chair hard, his whole body twisting and shifting. He felt so full, so fat, and just hot all over. Every pore was screaming for some sort of touch, anything to help that feeling grow. Heat was building in every cell of him, he was certain, God he needed to touch, needed to press and squeeze and soothe- no!

Sherlock thrust he feet on the floor again angrily with a loud clomp. John returned with the dessert dish, eyebrows raised. "Alright?" he asked.

"Perfectly," retorted Sherlock. He mastered himself once more, then picked up a spoon and tore into the large bowl of chocolate mousse and whipped cream he had prepared. The taste was sweet and wonderfully distracting, though no less rich than the previous meal. Sherlock let out a soft moan yet again as he shoveled the stuff down.

John had daintily taken a more reasonable portion for himself and was now eating it slowly.

"Hmm, this is really good, love," he praised, completely ignoring Sherlock's indecent behavior. Or well, trying to. Sherlock was being a bit too loud to be easily ignored.

"John, please, I'm-urp- I'm so-so full, n-need you to-ah!"

"Sherlock, we made a bet. I'm not going to be fooled that easily," said John, looking over at Sherlock, "What kind of a fool do you-"

Sherlock gleefully noted that he now had the other man's full attention. The detective whimpered, falling back in his chair. His belly was huge and round, distended and sagging ever so slightly into his lap, dragging his pajama bottoms down with it's weight. Sherlock flung his head back, hiccuped, his lips, and chin still flecked with the pudding.

"Huh... John... I-I think I ate... too much. So-ff-brr-full."

"God, Sherlock..."

Sherlock lolled his head over, eyes sliding open and cautiously flitting over his lover. Yes, good. He was moments from giving in... that display had worked. Oh thank God, because he didn't think he could stand it a moment longer. Sherlock's overfull belly gurgled angrily and the man winced.

John's lips were parted, his breathing clearly elevated. his free hand had relaxed and shifted towards him. Good... yes... John... But.

No. No! It had only grabbed the remaining mousse and pulled it towards the doctor. Sherlock barely managed to swallow his growl of frustration.

"John, what are you?"

"Eating," said the doctor, pointedly raising his spoon and tucking into the bowl. Sherlock blinked, his mind hazy, then blinked again. John was now shovelling down the thick creamy dessert at a pace that rivaled Sherlock's previous one. Gone was the reasonable serving. Now he was... devouring everything. Sherlock swallowed, somehow finding the sight utterly mesmerizing. John continued to eat, and eat, and then carried on eating as he scraped up every last bit of the pudding he could find. Sherlock found his own breath catching. No, this wasn't helping his heat problem, nor his touch problem because God...

John's belly was looking round now, pudgy even. Soft round the navel and still growing as John ate. What must that feel like? Soft, then hard underneath? To bite?

John shifted on his chair, grunting in discomfort. Sherlock was now chewing his lip so hard it hurt, his own belly forgotten for a moment because John... _John._

His belt had been pushed down, his rounded mousse-filled belly pushing out over top, jumper rucked up. Oh God, he looked so soft, so nibble-able, so squeezable as he grew, expanded, bloated. And oooh... the thought of how much heavy cream had gone into that mousse _and_ the topping. Sherlock keened and threw himself onto the floor, jostled himself between John's legs, his own overfull belly burbling and rolling in protest at the movement, but Sherlock couldn't care. Not when- _yes!_

John cried out as Sherlock pushed his face into the doctor's soft round belly, his lips parted, jaw mouthing at every bit of exposed belly. His fingers roamed John's sides, stroking and kneading flesh between his fingers. The detective moaned, then bit a soft fold of skin, sucking it to make it bruise.

"Sh-Sherlo-AH!"

"John, fff-oh, John... _Joooohn..._ "

The belly against Sherlock's cheek and fingers jostled slightly. Sherlock blinked, momentarily brought out of his reverie. John was... laughing? The detective looked up, affronted.

"I suppose that means I win then," said John, between hiccups and giggles, slumping back in his chair, "Oh Christ." He winced and put a hand to his belly as it twinged at him.

Sherlock sat back on his calves, his own stomach protesting the movement now that he remembered it. Then he pouted magnificently.

"That's not fair. You cheated."

"How did I cheat?" asked John, still breathless, his hand exploring the mound his belly had become, "'First to touch a belly loses' was what we said, yeah?"

"You know me too well. I'm a highly tactile individual," replied Sherlock, "How could I be expected to resist, _this_?" he gestured at John's tummy, then moved in to rub and squeeze at it again, making John squirm. "I wasn't prepared. I'd never seen you... like this."

"Me neither. I managed though," said John with another chuckle.

Sherlock sniffed. Then wet his lips, eyes still tracing over the round curve of John's belly where it bulged out from under his jumper against his trousers. Well, it could be worse. He slid long fingered hands along John's thighs.

"Well, to the victor the spoils then," he said with a smirk, "Though I maintain that this contest wasn't conducted on even ground. My tactile needs are far-"

"Yeah, yeah, alright," said John, grinning in return and shuddering slightly as Sherlock's breath puffed against his lower belly, "Sore loser. But tell you what. You can pick the next game then."

"Hm, I look forward to it," replied Sherlock, then leaned in to kiss John's belly again. Well, to be honest. This was probably going to be rather rewarding for the both of them. His fingers fussed with John's belt, then his trouser button. Then John groaned as that wonderful, wonderful belly was finally free and in Sherlock's highly attentive care.


End file.
